


Silhouette's Shadow

by merixyka



Category: Non-Fandom - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:07:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21697420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merixyka/pseuds/merixyka
Summary: The Silhouette Massacre took place 40 years ago.* The only survivor, Aaron, now has two children, Harrison and Thomas. Harrison gets a call from the police that his friend has been killed. While Harrison is being charged of murder, the original killer keeps killing without hesitation. Furthermore, its the Silhouette's Shadow's intention to frame Harrison of being a serial killer. Will they succeed their will? Read to find out.*Read "Silhouette by merixyka" before this one.





	1. The Prologue: The Silhouette Massacre

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel of the novella published by me, "Silhouette".

You know how the story of the Silhouette happened. You know who did it. You know who were involved. Andrew Dementis, a police officer went by Rick Harden, and Andy’s friends. One of his friends, unlucky enough, was my father, Aaron Sylvia. He was the only survivor of that deadly night. He made it alive, but he had been dead since then.  
This is the story of his son, I, Harrison Sylvia.  
This is the story of another man, who carried out the Silhouette’s legacy.  
This is the story of the Silhouette’s Shadow.


	2. Memories Seem to Haunt You

I was touching her naked body moving over mine. I was feeling her breath taking mine. As I had her clasped in my arms, keep colliding were our bodies. “You close?” she asked breathlessly. I didn’t reply. “I’m as close as I can get.” she continued. “Where will you c-”  
I gagged her to focus on what we were doing. She seemed to like it.  
I was nearly where she was, as well. I pulled myself out of her, put my hands on my men-part. A couple minutes later we were laying on the bed side by side smoking cigarettes. “When are we meeting again?” I asked, with a cigarette on my mouth, while dressing myself up.  
“This is the second of this week,” she replied. “We usually come and fuck on Mondays and Thursdays.”  
“Kay, then.” I was buttoning my shirt. “See you on Monday.”  
“Wait,” she hurried. “I’m with Chester on Monday.”  
“Tuesday, then.” I rescheduled.  
“Won’t you ask why I’m with him?”  
“I’m not wondering why you’re planning to spend some time with your boyfriend, Dolores.” I said sarcastically. That was my curse.  
“Why’re you being such a dick?” she asked.  
“You know that I don’t like being asked a million questions after this,” I replied. “Don’t take it personally, kay?”  
She nodded. “Well, aren’t you a little jealous, though?”  
“We’ve been doing this for over two years, Dol.”  
“I know, but...”  
“You don’t have to blame yourself for cheating on him.” were my final words before I left. “But you can’t blame him for being into boys, either.” I put out my cigarette on her ashtray, opened the door and left her alone with her thoughts.  
Putting it out was simply a mistake as I knew I’d want to smoke some more, which led me to flick the lighter to kill another fag. I was kind of angry with what Dolores said a minute ago. We weren’t lovers. She was in love with a friend of mine. She didn’t care if he was gay or not, she just wanted to have him in her arms. And me. She had us both.  
I knocked my house’s door. Father yelled from inside. “Why don’t you ever take your keys with you, Harry?” He had a point. I wasn’t good with keys. I hated them when they jingled.  
“Sorry, dad,” I replied. I had to be more careful with him than usual because it was, I think, the fortieth anniversary of his best friend’s death. His name was Andrew. I knew exactly how he died. My father told me and my brother that story annually.  
He opened the door and I entered, put a little kiss on his cheek. “How’s it going?” he asked. “Were you with that whore again?”  
“She’s not a whore, dad.” I said. “Just because he’s cheating on his boyfriend, who’s actually a good friend of mine, doesn’t make her a bitch.”  
“Read a dictionary, kiddo,” he replied. “That’s how they redefined bitch after she was born.”  
“You’re never going to change, are you?” I laughed.  
“Call your brother,” he said. “It’s story time.”  
I didn’t like hearing the same story over and over, but it was how he got rid of the tragic loss of his best friend. I got upstairs and knocked Thomas’ door. “Come in,” he yelled.  
I pushed the door open. “Hey, Tommy,” I said. “What’re you doing half-naked in your room?”  
“Not all of us has a fuckbuddy, Harry,” he replied laughingly.  
“Cut the shit and come downstairs, daddy says it’s story time.”  
“Not again with this bullshit.” he rolled his eyes.  
“I can hear you cunts!” my father screamed from downstairs. “Come the fuck down.”  
Thomas wore a short and walked with me through the stairs. “So, how’s she doing?”  
“How’s who doing?” I questioned him.  
“Dolores,” he answered. “Is he still dating Chester?”  
I nodded. “We’ll catch up later, eh?”  
He nodded as well, and we found ourselves gathered around a round table just like Arthur’s.  
“I know you’re bored with this story,” my father started his hymn. “But it’s the only damn day I can get close to feeling like I forgot him.”  
“We know, dad.” Thomas said. “And we need you to know that you don’t have to wait for a whole year to talk to us about it.”  
“I do know that,” he replied. “I just don’t know if I can bare talking about him without having to say my farewell.”  
“Do tell the story, father.” I said.  
“It was exactly forty years ago, now.” he started his story. “I was twenty-three. He was as well. He had this weird illness that made him have an urge to write constantly, and what he wrote was the most brutal and savage stories ever existed. He always said he never read any of what he wrote. Then one night, one damn night, his flatmate got shot in the head dead.” he lit a cigarette. “That was the night that he realised the killer was imitating Andrew’s writings. After a day or two, the killer attacked my flatmate in my house.” he smoked, then exhaled. “I ran after him. It was a rainy night, with no stars. Then a police officer we knew stopped him. He unmasked him, before got shot by him. He died that second. Later, Andrew came. The killer, the impostor, the Silhouette was another police officer. A madman he was. Then he massacred everyone on the crime scene: Every policemen and policewomen, every health servant. Every single one, except Andrew and me.” he smoked, then exhaled. “I don’t quite remember what happened then. But he said he liked my perfume. I really don’t know what happened but... the killer shot at Andrew. He fell on the wet ground with eyes barely open. Then the killer... the Silhouette shot himself in the head. I hope Andrew didn’t think I died with him. I hope he knew that the killer didn’t smell like my perfume.”  
“It’s brutal, dad.” Thomas said before reaching to dad’s cigarette packet. “May I?” Dad nodded. Thomas put a cigar between his lips, lit it. I did the same.  
“So, when did you decide to marry and have us?” I asked.  
“I fell in love fifteen years after his death. I was thirty-seven.” he replied.  
“And two years after marriage, you had me.” I said. “Five years after me, you had Thomas.” I looked at my little brother and smiled. “Dad was forty-four when you were born, kiddo.”  
“You’re eighteen, now, Thomas.” father said, and looked at me. “And you’re twenty-three. He was at your age when he died, Harrison.”  
I held his hand before I smoked my cigarette. “You’ve seen a lot, dad.” I said. “But they’re all gone.”  
“A part of me, you know, thinks that he’d never died.” he said.  
“You’ve been to his funeral, didn’t you?”  
“No, not Andrew.” he corrected himself. “The Silhouette. I never saw anyone talk about him.”  
“It’s been forty years, dad.” Thomas eased him. “If you were twenty-three when all this happened, he must’ve been at his thirties. Now he’d be older than seventy.”  
“And with that kind of psychological health, I wouldn’t say he’d even see his fifties.”  
“Memories seem to haunt you, father.”  
“They’ve been haunting me for ages, son.”  
My phone rang. It was Chester. “Hey,” I replied.  
“Hey, Harry,” he said. “I was wondering if you saw Dolores anywhere.”  
Shit. Does he know about you? “No, why?”  
“She hasn’t been picking her phone for seven hours.”  
“When did you see her last?” I asked.  
“Yesterday evening.”  
Yeah, she was twisting under me last night. “No, haven’t seen her.” I lied. I couldn’t tell the truth because I had no excuses.  
“Fuck,” he said. “Just... just let me know if you hear anything about her, okay?”  
“Her place is not too far from here, you know?” I said. “I can go check if you want to?”  
“That’d be cool, man.” he replied. “I’m at work and after that I’ve got to be at school.”  
“Don’t mention it,” I said and hung up. I turned to my dad and Thomas. “I’d like to sit and talk about ghosts for a couple more hours, but I have to check if the whore’s still alive.”  
That was a bad joke to make, because I found her with a deep cut on her neck and body reddened by her blood. She was... dead. She was dead and I had no idea why. Was it because I behaved like a dick an hour ago? Was it worth killing oneself? I was trying to think about all the possibilities. But I couldn’t think of anything. I decided to a talk to an officer at the crime scene. “Sorry to bother,” I said, trying to get her attention. “What happened here?”  
“Seems like suicide to me.” she replied. “Who are you exactly?”  
“Uhm, I,” I stuttered. “I’m a friend.”  
“Aren’t you a little chill to be her friend?” she asked. “She’s killed herself, god damnit.”  
She had a valid point. Why was I so calm? I thought it was because what my father had been telling me from the day I was born. All those savage homicides... I was just... I was made indifferent to death. But damn, I had to give her a valid answer, too. “Do you know The Silhouette Massacre?” I asked.  
She nodded. “That’s the first thing they teach us in the Police Academy.” she put out her cigarette. “And it included a bunch of police officers, as well.”  
“Yeah, well, I’m the descendant of the only survivor.”  
Her eyes went wide open. “Are you a Sylvia?” she asked. “I was a fan of him twenty years ago when he was teaching at the academy.”  
“Yeah, that’s why I’m indifferent to stuff like this. Just like you.”  
“Still, who’s she to you, for real this time?” she asked.  
“Well... She’s my best friend’s girlfriend.”  
In that moment, other officers brought a couple pictures to her. She looked at it, then looked at me, looked at it and back at me. “Is it the reason why you two were naked, having a shower, and your man-part is in her mouth in these pictures?” she asked.  
Fuck. Literally fuck. “Okay, can I keep those?”  
“Back off, kid.”  
“Listen, her boyfriend is gay, and she doesn’t accept it, and whenever she can’t have what she wants from him and he can’t provide it, she comes to me.”  
“Does he know about it?”  
I was sweating. “No. I haven’t told him yet.”  
“This would be a good time to do that, Sylvia.”  
“Please, get rid of those pictures, would you?” I begged her.  
“Well, because you’re the son of Aaron Sylvia, I can do a favour.”  
“Thanks, ma’am, thanks a million!” I yelled silently.  
“But you have to do something for me.”  
In case you can’t guess what, she wanted from me, let me clear that out. My father’s reaction to Dolores’s death was this: “The whore’s dead?” Okay, Thomas and I could be indifferent to death, but our dad was the reason we had that kind of a skill - or curse, making him the most indifferent prick out there. “Thought she’d bury me first.”  
“Sir,” the police officer started. “It’s an honour to see you again.”  
“Why?” dad asked. “What have I done to give you the honour?”  
“You survived, dad.” I replied him. “You stayed alive.”  
I could see he was getting angry. “Do you think it’s what I did?” he said silently. “You lots seeing me as a hero... whilst I think I’m just a bastard who couldn’t even manage to kill himself in forty fucking years.”  
“Father, don’t say that -” Thomas said, but got interrupted by him, nonetheless.  
“Shut it, Tommy.” he raised his voice this time. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to just stand on the stage and lecture those young minds in the academy?” he was looking at the officer. “No, you don’t. And you won’t.” he lit a cigar. “Look, girl, I know your intentions ain’t bad, but I don’t think I’m the one who you think I am.”  
“Aren’t you the one who attended to the funerals of every single person that was killed that night, sir?” she asked, and a deep silence covered the air. Even my father, who always had an answer for anything. “Aren’t you the one who met every soul’s relatives to give your condolences? Are you not the one who always kept in touch with them until the day they died?”  
“What good did it do?” he asked.  
“Their children were murdered that night, sir.” she continued. “And you filled that emptiness.”  
“I wish I did that, child.”  
“Forty years ago, I was ten years old, Mr. Sylvia.” the officer kept trying to convince my father otherwise. “I was ten and you were twenty-three.”  
“How do you even know that?” he asked, while Tommy and I were in death silence.  
“I know that because I lost a brother forty years ago.” she replied. “He died at the age of thirty on that massacre.” she stopped to clear her eyes off the tears. “Then I met someone in his funeral. A youngster in his twenties, who said he saw the whole thing and was blaming himself for not being able to prevent what was impossible to predict.” she looked at us for a second, then continued to speak to my father. “That young boy I met in my brother’s funeral became a kind of brother to me.”  
“Oh my God,” my father replied with tears in his eyes. “Queen A?”  
“Yes, sir.” she replied. Finally, I got to know her name. “Queenie Addington. Daughter to Bryce and Samara Addington. Sister to Steven Addington.”  
“Stop with the sir bullshit, girl.” he said, laughing “Why? Why wasn’t I able to reach out to you?”  
“The Police Academy’s rules were outrageous. They made us lose all contact with our family and friends.”  
“I heard the rumours...” dad said but I had to interrupt because I wasn’t quite an emotion-based person.  
“You two can catch up later, eh?” I said. “Mrs. Addington, could you escort me outside, please?” she followed me, surprised. “Sorry to interfere your family reunion, but I’d really appreciate if those pictures were on fire right now.”  
“You made me reunite with your father, my second brother, Harrison.” she replied. “I can break a rule for once, for you.” She took the pictures out of her pockets and gave them to me.  
“Thank you, ma’am.” I said. I was relieved. If those pictures were to be seen by anyone, it could be the end of me. I’d be a dead man.  
When I was about to call Chester to give him the breaking news, Mrs. Addington held my arm. “Harry,” she said. “This doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods.”  
“What does that mean?” I asked. “I just got a new information from the Dolores McCarty case.”  
“Case?”  
“It’s not a suicide.” she said. “It’s a homicide.”


	3. Lifeless Death

Dolores McCarty was murdered. My best friend’s girlfriend, my fuckbuddy for the past two years, was murdered. And the killer was unknown. They didn’t have a single clue. The case was administered by Queenie Addington, my sixty-three-year-old father’s stepsister. And she had seen the pictures of us. The pictures where Dolores and I were naked, having a shower and she... sucking certain parts of me. If the pictures were to be seen by anyone, I’d be deader than Dol.  
On the following day, I was alone with Chester, Dolores’ boyfriend, in his room. “I just can’t believe it,” he said. “that she’s gone.”  
“Ask me about it,” I said. “I just saw her -” I stopped. He couldn’t have known that I had seen her in the morning of the day she was killed. “A week ago.”  
“It feels strange, huh?” he asked. I nodded. “I mean, I kind of feel relieved.”  
“Relieved of what?”  
“She wasn’t in love with me.” he explained. “Clearly I wasn’t in love with her, either.”  
“Seriously,” I replied. “Why were you two even a thing?”  
“She thought she had feelings for me, and she thought I had feelings for her, too.”  
“Look how it turned out.”  
“I figured out that I was gay in our fourth anniversary, though.” he said.  
“And you kept on dating with her for another 4 years.” I laughed.  
“That was the plan.”  
And now she’s dead, dipshit! “Things never work as planned, do they?” I asked.  
Chester’s sister who were two years younger than we were knocked the door “Chester?” she said. “Can I come in?”  
“Do come in,” her brother replied.  
Chassidy came in and saw me. “Oh,” she was surprised. “I wasn’t planning to see you here today.”  
“Why?” I asked.  
“The death anniversary thingy of your father’s friend.” she explained.  
“Oh,” I replied. “It was done yesterday morning.”  
“True,” she answered. “So, we got two dead people’s anniversaries next year, yeah?”  
“Don’t joke about it,” Chester roasted her. “You know she was my girlfriend.”  
“You hated her, Chester.”  
“She has a valid point.” I interrupted.  
“It’s not about if I loved her or not,” he opposed. “We dined, drank, and watched every movie in theatres together.” he inhaled deeply. “That means something, man.”  
“And you did that while sleeping with other dudes.” Chassidy refuted his argument.  
“You can’t blame me for liking boys.”  
“No one’s blaming you for fucking dudes,” I replied. “We’re just blaming you for fucking dudes while having a girlfriend.”  
“She never broke up with me, okay?” he exclaimed. “And she refused when I tried to break up.” He took a cigarette out of its packet, put one in his lips and lit it. “The fact that I was cheating on her doesn’t make it easier to stop grieving her death.”  
My phone rang. It was Officer Addington. “Hello?” I answered her call.  
“Mr. Sylvia, you’re expected in the police department to be interrogated on the murder case of Dolores McCarty and the pictures we think that are related to it.”  
“I thought you knew I had nothing to do with it?” I asked furiously.  
“Just because I know who you are doesn’t mean you’re free to walk around, Harrison.” she replied. “Give your testimony and we’ll see.”  
I left Chester’s without saying any detailed information. Walking under the rain, I killed a fag and checked my phone. There was a text message sent by Dolores, but I didn’t get its notification yesterday. I was getting anxious. I read it: I tried to hold on to what we had but I can’t keep on living like this. I’m a cheater and I feel like I’ve lost you today. Now you’ll feel what I felt. You’ll lost too.  
God... Could this prove that she killed herself because of me? Because of how I rejected her? How I made her cheat on his boyfriend? But no, no that couldn’t have been the case. The police told me directly that this wasn’t a suicide... but a homicide.  
I didn’t know what to do and just deleted her text message to pretend as if it never even existed in the first place. Yes. That was it. It never existed. I never knew that she could do such a thing - no, I couldn’t say this to the police, it was a homicide. I never knew that someone would want to do this to her. Yes. That was better.  
The department was full of uniformed people. That was kind of scary, but I wasn’t going to be blamed for anything, was I?  
“Mrs. Addington,” I tried to make her notice me. “It is I who you wanted to interrogate.”  
“I can see that, Mr. Sylvia.” she replied. “Follow me.”  
The interrogation room was dark. There was a single table on the middle and it had handcuffs attached to it. I knew they used them when there was a real suspect. I sat on the chair, trying not to show any suspicious vibes. “What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” I asked. A stupid question it was, I give you that.  
“The Dolores McCarty murder,” Queen A replied. “was just a lie to get you here.”  
“Then why am I here?” I asked another question this time.  
“There is something we have to tell you.”  
“Spit it out.” I was getting angry; I didn’t know why.  
“I had to have you locked down because I read your file,” she continued. “I was afraid that when I said what I had to say, you’d lose your temper and do something stupid.”  
“My file?” I asked. “What made you fucking read my file?” Now I was angry. Angry in action. Angry and unstoppable.  
“Manners, Mr. Sylvia.” she attempted to ease me.  
“Don’t make me talk about manners, you lying piece of shit.” That wasn’t me talking. I mean, it was me. But it wasn’t me me.  
“It says on your file that you have anger issues,” she kept talking. “And it made you have serious seizures at past.”  
“What’s it to you?” I asked. “You think I killed the whore and don’t even know about doing it?”  
“I believe it is the anger that’s talking.” she said.  
“Stop being a smartass, Queenie.” I said. “Cut the shit and say what you have to say.”  
“Your father’s dead, Harrison.”  
My father was dead? I... But how?  
“Why did you have to lock me up to say this?” I asked. Then I changed the question: “How did he die?”  
“You seem uninterested yet again, Mr. Sylvia.”  
“The indifference, Mrs. Addington.” I replied. “Would you please answer my question?”  
“He had a heart-attack.” she said. “I’m sorry, Harrison, but I had to have you here before I give you the info.”  
“It’s okay, Addington.” I said. “Where’s he now?”  
“He’s taken to the hospital immediately, but they couldn’t save him.”  
“His body was as stubborn as he was,” I sadly smiled. “Will I be able to see him?”  
“Of course,” she replied. “You’re his son.”  
I wasn’t really shocked to be honest. But a part of me always thought he’d live a couple more years. And more importantly, I always thought that he’d die the same day Andrew died. Tough luck, he died a day after.  
“Before I leave,” I said. “I have to say two things.”  
“I’m listening.”  
“First, I’m sorry I snapped at you.” I apologised. “Second... Are the pictures going to stay between us?”  
She took a breath and sat the chair on the opposite side of the table. “Look, Harry,” she said. “I told you that the pictures are known only by the two of us.” I felt relieved for a second. “But if the case goes deeper than we expect it to go,” she continued. “We’ll have to question everything. And by everything, I include you as well.”  
“But I have nothing to do with it, Mrs. Addington.” I opposed her.  
“I believe what you’re saying, son.” She said. “But if it goes there, you have to expect me to do my job. Are we clear?”  
I nodded and left the room.  
When I was out of the station, I lit a cigarette. I called Thomas. “Brother?”  
“Harry, I’m-” he was crying.  
“I know, I know.” I eased him. “I know we weren’t looking for it.”  
“I need you here, Harry.” he said. “Please, don’t make me look at his corpse alone.”  
“Where are you?”  
“The morgue’s done with the body.” he replied. “We have to arrange the funeral.”  
“Leave that to me,” I said.  
“No,” he refused. “I don’t want to be alone.”  
He and I met at the funeral arrangement office. It was the one that my dad decided to use five years ago. That was his first chapter of his will. The second was for me, saying that I should always be away from trouble for I have anger issues. The third and the last one was for Thomas, telling him that he should always keep his family from trouble. That was also about me when you think about it.  
I threw my cigarette’s butt away and hugged Thomas. “How’re you holding up?” I asked.  
“So far so good,” he replied. “I cried when I first saw him like that, but I then remembered everything he ever taught us.”  
All he ever taught us was to never cry after a death because all it did was hurting yourself even more. I don’t really know it was the truth or not, however I do manage to not cry for the dead. Yet I still cry for the living from time to time.  
“We’ll say our farewells to him in peace, Tom,” I made a promise. “If there’s an afterlife after all, he’ll know that we did our best.”  
I’m not going to give you every detail about the funeral. I don’t want to make you think about the people who loved him crying over his death, including Queenie Addington. But what I can tell is this: Apparently, father had a lot of friends. Everyone he knew from the Silhouette Massacre, at least the alive members of the families, were there. Plus, the whole police department was there, not to mention the academy.  
Everyone who knew him said good things about him. Then it was Tommy’s turn: “I’m sure you know my father better than I do.” he said. “I believe he was a son, a father, a nephew, a brother to you.” he had a spit of his cold water. “He was my real father. He was the reason I am alive today at this very moment, speaking after his death.” he cried a little. “He always taught Harrison and I never to cry. But I never promised him to do what he wanted us to. Here I am now, crying for him.”  
I could see people crying as well.  
“He wasn’t the type to let you pity him, you already know that.” he had another spit. “But let me tell you this: He pitied all of you.” Tommy left the rostrum quickly.  
Wow. What a finisher.  
Of course, I won’t let you know what I said at the funeral. I’m not the person who does these tragic falls. Still, I can tell you this single sentence I said there: “My father was known to be a survivor, but only Tommy and I knew he was being chased by the lifeless death since that cursed night.”


	4. Make It Up to You

I could hear them moaning. They were in Chassidy’s room, and I knew who she was having an intercourse with. Chester was standing right next to me. “It’s disgusting,” he said. “I can’t even properly bring boys in my room, but she’s able to sleep with one!”  
“It’s not only someone, Chester.” I replied. “Nick and Chassidy have been dating for what, three years now?”  
“You’re right,” he agreed. Still, he knocked their door. “Chas,” he shouted. “Quiet, please!”  
“Is it your brother?” we heard Nick ask her.  
“Yeah, not a big deal.” she replied.  
“I hate her sometimes.” Chester said looking at my face.  
“One day you’ll find someone you can trust to bring home, dude.” I said to ease him while entering his room.  
“It’s not that,” he disagreed. He lit a cigarette. “Throughout my life, people never asked me how I felt about certain things.”  
“What things?” I asked.  
“Never mind, Harry.” he replied, exhaled smoke. “You just lost your father and here I am complaining about my personal messy stuff.”  
“We’re indifferent, Chester.” I said. “Thomas and I always knew. He may not be able to cope with it, but I can. I was... trained for it.”  
“Speaking of Tom,” he said. “How’s he holding up?”  
I also killed a fag. “He’s not, I think.” the burning smoke covered the room. “I wanted to stay with him, but he said I was already dealing with Dolores’ case.”  
“Don’t mention that one,” he cut me off. I looked at him, asking what happened. “I saw a text message sent to me by her.”  
“What was it saying?” I was anxious. Did he know?  
“Apparently, she was cheating on me.”  
My blood got cold. “What makes you think that?”  
He showed me the text: I know it’s been a rough couple of years for you, my love, but it has been for me as well. I did what I did because I knew I couldn’t force you to sleep with me. That’s why I had someone else to pleasure me for the past two years. I’m not going to tell you who he is; there’s no need to have two dead people in the town in two days.  
I looked at Chester. “It’s not something you didn’t do yourself, right?”  
“I know but... I think I know who she was fucking.”  
Well, fuck. “Really? Who?”  
“No, I won’t tell you.”  
“Why? Is it someone I know?” Please tell me “no”.  
“Yeah, closely.”  
“Who then?”  
“You’ll get mad.” he said. “I fear you when you’re mad.”  
“I won’t, Chester.” I promised.   
“I think she was with Thomas.” he uttered.  
Wait, what? Thomas, as in my brother Thomas? “Why – what makes you think that?” I asked.  
“Dolores didn’t know a lot of people. And I sure as hell must know who he is as she was afraid of telling me because she thought I could do something bad to him.”  
“Thomas is ultimately antisocial, dude.”  
“Maybe it’s because he was feeling guilty of fucking his brother’s best friend’s girlfriend.” he said.  
“I get that you’re angry with half of the male population of the town right now,” I said calmly. “But don’t you dare accuse my brother of something filthy like that.”  
“Then riddle me this: Why would he cry after your father’s death. You are indifferent.” he said. “But let’s imagine... Yesterday he lost his love interest, and today he lost his father. Now that’s too much, right? That’s why he cried after the death of someone.”  
“I don’t want to near Thomas under any circumstances, Chester.” I said after putting my cigarette out. “I know you’re mad, I give you that, but please, please, don’t let me see you near him.”  
I was ready to take my leave when he held my arm. “Wait, Harry,” he said. “I’m sorry.”  
I strongly took my arm back. “You said what you said.”  
“I apologise,” he replied. “I just can’t figure out why she wouldn’t tell me this earlier.”  
“You didn’t have to put the blame on my brother.”  
“I don’t know a lot of people in this town, Harrison.” he replied. “I merely didn’t manage to think that she’d cheat on me with someone she barely knew.”  
“Believe me, she barely knew Thomas.” I said.  
“Can please sit?” he said. “I don’t want to you go.”  
It was understandable that he thought the cheater’s cheat was Thomas. A part of me was glad that he didn’t think it was me, but another part was angry because he accused my innocent brother who was only 18 years old. Besides, Dolores wasn’t into youngers. Chester should’ve known that. But I wasn’t going to be mad at him for blaming the people he knew. “It’s okay Chester,” I said calmly. “I know you’re grieving, and I also know it makes one blame everyone else.” I put my hand on my hair to fix its appearance. “I’m going to go now but don’t think it’s because what you said.” I continued. “I have to check in on Thomas to see if he’s okay.”  
“Don’t tell him what I said, would you?” he said with tears in his eyes.  
“I wasn’t going to, dude.”  
“I feel guilty, Harry.” he kept on talking. “Is there way I can make it up to you?”  
“Don’t bother looking for the cheater.” I replied. “Leave it to me.”  
“How’ll you do it if I can’t?”  
“I know more people in this town than you do.”  
An intense moan of the two fucking in the room next door. I thought they ejaculated. “Well you can’t leave for another half an hour,” Chester said.  
“Why’s that?” I asked.  
“They’re going to walk to the bathroom fully naked, shower, then go back to their room still naked.”  
“Gross,” I replied. “I’ll go when they’re in shower.”  
“As you wish,” he said.  
I waited for five minutes to hear the water pouring the ground in the bathroom. When I did so, I left Chester’s room and the house itself.  
I was raining again, and I was sick of it.  
I directly went to home. I used my key to get in. “Tom?” I called him. “You home?”  
I heard a “Shit, he’s early-” then “I’m here, but don’t come upstairs!”  
“Are you okay?” I asked while slowly walking the stairs. “Are you in your room?”  
“I’m dressing up, Harry, wait please.”  
When I was standing in front of his room, he slammed the door. “What’re you doing in there?”  
“I fucking told you to wait!”  
“You got a minute to open this door, Tommy.” I said laughingly. “Dad may not be at home but I as hell am.”  
The door opened. There was a girl inside along with Thomas. A girl I didn’t know, but with a quite familiar face. “What?” he asked. “What do you want?”  
“For starters, I’d like to know who she is.” I entered the room without permission and heard Thomas whisper for fuck’s sake. I shook her hand. “Hi, I’m Harrison. This fellow’s brother.” I pointed Thomas. “May I have your name?”  
“Rose,” she said with a naïve tone. “Rose Pond.”  
“Nice to meet you, Rose.” I turned to Thomas. “A word, brother?”  
We left the room and closed the door. “What the hell were you thinking?” he asked.  
“What I was thinking?”  
“Coming here and humiliating me?” he exclaimed.  
“I wasn’t trying to humiliate you, Tom.” I said. “I just – I don’t know who she is.”  
“She’s my girlfriend, Harry.” he replied. “We’ve been dating for six months.”  
“Half a year and you haven’t told daddy and I?” I said. “Heartbroken, dude.”  
“I wasn’t really proud of my father telling everyone he met his tragic backstory.”  
“Yeah, that, you’re right.” I agreed to him. “What were you doing upstairs, in an empty house? And you did say you were dressing up.”  
“I called her to talk to her.” he said. “She’s good for me when I’m upset.”  
“I get it.” I said softly. “But why were you naked?” I laughed.  
“We were talking, and things got a little complicated?”  
“So, you decided to get laid, huh?”  
“Don’t say like that, Harry, it’s embarrassing!”  
“I’m cool with it, Tommy.” I eased him. “You’re 18, do whatever the fuck you want to do.”  
“Well, can you at least leave us alone for another hour, maybe?”  
“I can spend the night at Chester’s if you want to have the whole night.” I said.  
“Would you do that?” he said with eyes brightened with happiness.  
“Of course,” I said. “If she’s good for you, you should be with her as long as you can.”  
“Thanks,” he said while going upstairs. “I’ll make it up to you.”  
God’s sake. Why does everybody want to make it up to me?


	5. Chasing Shadows

A text message woke me up. I swore a little, then checked my phone. The text simply said: You’ll hear they’re dead. Joke’s on you. I had enough of this shit. I called Queen A. “Listen to me very carefully.” I said. She didn’t say anything in return. “Well?”  
“I’m listening, Harrison.” she replied finally.  
“I have received a suspicious text from an anonymous number.” I said. It was a relief to say that. “It says that I’ll hear about someone else’s death.”  
“You should report that to cybercrime bureau.”  
“I don’t know anyone there.” I said. “I know you.”  
“It’s not my expertise, Harry, sorry.” She hung up the phone.  
What the fuck? Who does she think she is?  
Shut up.  
I went to the bathroom to take a shower. That was the only possible way to get rid of the dirt of being harassed by an unknown coward fat fuck. I was already half-naked, all I had to do was take off my boxer, enter the bath and close the door.  
I felt entirely relaxed after the hot water touched my soft skin. Water’s smoke was covering the whole bath, my eyes were becoming blind to sight. I squeezed shampoo on my hair and scoured it down to make it foam it.  
My eyes were closed. That was how I always did it since my childhood. If there was shampoo on my head, my eyes went closed. That also applied in the barber. If the barber was cutting the fronts of my hair, I always closed my eyes to avoid little pieces of hair being stuck in my eyes.  
Then was when I heard a noise. Or I thought I did, but I couldn’t open my eyes to see who were there. “Chester?” I asked with a loud voice to outtalk the water’s beating the floor. “Is that you? Sorry if I used the bathroom earlier than you did, I forgot you were home today.”  
He isn’t home today.  
He was on his way to meet Dolores’ parents earlier today. It couldn’t have been Chassidy, either, as she crashed at Nick’s last night. Or maybe she could’ve come home early. “Chassidy?” I asked this time.  
No reply could I hear. Okay, I must get out of the shower as soon as possible.  
I got rid of the foam on my hair, got out of the bath and wrapped myself up in a towel. “Whoever’s out there, you’re fucked.”  
I received another text message: Hey, Harry. I came home to take my wallet. I heard you shouting from the shower but didn’t have the time to reply. I left in ten seconds or something. Chester.  
That was a relief. At least, I know knew that the house wasn’t broken into. I untied my towel, put a boxer on and wore pants. After dressing myself up in a shirt, I wrapped my scarf on my neck, and trench coat. I was ready to go out and inform the anonymous text I received to the cybercrime.  
Just when I decided to wear a trench coat, the weather suddenly decided not to rain. That’s it. That’s my luck. All I get is this.  
I kept walking under the shining sun, with a coat in my hand. My other hand was holding a cigarette. Just as it always did. Given that addiction of mine, I could live up to the age 40 or something. What can I say? I was a creature of habit.  
I was this close to enter the police station. That was when I received another text message. It went like this: You’re smarter than this, Sylvia. You haven’t even heard of another death report!  
I hesitated. I wasn’t sure if I should’ve entered there or not. I stopped for approximately five minutes, putting my burning cigarette as an excuse of waiting outside rather than inside. “Harrison,” I heard a familiar voice. “May I have your time?” It was Mrs. Addington. I nod. Of course, ma’am, you can have my time even though you practically refused to help me about an hour ago. “Thanks,” she said after I offered her a cigarette. She took it and lit it, just as I did after throwing my already smoking one away.  
“To what exactly am I wasting my time?” I jokingly asked.  
She laughed. “You sound just like your father, Harry.”  
“They say that.” I sadly smiled.  
“Anyways,” she continued. “There’s been another report to the murder investigation department.” she smoked. “This one hasn’t made it to news yet, but I wanted you to hear it from me.”  
I was getting nervous; an hour after receiving a text claiming that there would be another death, here I was listening to a police officer telling me about another murder. “Who’s it?” I asked, as cold-blooded as I could sound.  
“I don’t know if you’re familiar with the name, but your brother reported this one.” she said. “Do you know a Rose Pond?”  
I couldn’t believe in what I just heard. Rose, my brother’s girlfriend, who I met only last night, was dead meat. “I do.” I replied. “Where was she found?”  
“It seems that your brother left the house to buy popcorn at 23 at night. The grocer confirms that.” she said. “When he got back home at 23.13, he claims he found her dead.”  
“How did she die?”  
“It’s scary but... her throat was cut just like Dolores’ was.” Queenie replied.  
“Are we dealing with a serial killer here?” I suddenly asked.  
“I remember these happening all too well, Harrison, and I can’t lie... I’m afraid.” she said. “The Silhouette Massacre forty years ago, and today this...”  
“It’s nothing like the Silhouette Massacre, ma’am.” I said. “I will talk to Thomas.  
I said I would because there was something extremely bothering me in this story. I called Thomas. “Where are you?” I asked him. “I heard the news.”  
“I lost her, Harrison.” he said. Crying again. “Why do I keep losing people I love?”  
“Are you at home?”  
“The floor is covered in her blood at home.” he replied. “I’m never going home again.”  
“Tell me where you are, Tommy.” I said. “Please.”  
“I’m at the cemetery.” he said. “Looking at dad’s gravestone.”  
I hung up the phone and ran to the cemetery. I didn’t even have the time to smoke.  
There I found Thomas, sitting on the wet grass, crying whilst touching the gravestone. I walked to him. “Hey,” I said. “Are you okay?”  
He shook his head. “I don’t feel like I’m going to be okay.”  
“Thomas,” I said. “This is exactly the situation that our father taught us not to break.”  
“Well tough shit,” he shouted. “Because I am broken!”  
“Lower your voice.” I said.  
“Why aren’t you even surprised.”  
“I knew this would happen.” I said. Yeah, just like that. I trusted Thomas more than anything. I could lie, die and kill for him.  
“How come?” he stood up, looking into my eyes. “Did you do it, Harrison?” he pushed me. “Were you jealous? Your whore got killed, you saw me happy with a girl and decided to take that away?”  
“What you’re saying is nonsense, brother.” I said. “Keep the fuck calm.”  
“Make me believe you didn’t do it, you creep!”  
“Call Chester, fuckface.” I said. “I was with him the whole night.”  
“You could’ve just warned him not to tell anyone that you left the house.” he said. “You even smell like her now!”  
“That’s because you gave her my perfume, douchebag.”  
He, surprisingly, smiled. Then he burst into tears. He hugged me. “I’m so sorry, Harrison.” he said. “I don’t know why I said what I said.”  
“You’re sad,” I replied. “And angry.” I continued. “Do you remember what those two things do to one?”  
He looked directly into my eyes. “It drives one mad.”  
“Now, tell me,” I said. “Are you a madman?”  
“No,” he replied. “Are you?”  
I didn’t reply. I simply looked at father’s gravestone, picked Thomas and ordered a cab.


	6. The Man in the Box

Down behind the gates of darkness dwell, the man in the box between heaven and hell, with his broken heart, sings the song of love.  
“Harry?” I heard him waking me up. “Are you awake?”  
“I am now,” I replied.  
“Sorry to wake you up.” Thomas continued. “I was going to ask you if you were hungry.”  
“Weird,” I whispered.  
“What?”  
“It feels weird to feel something normal considering everything that has happened.” I said.  
“Nothing is normal, Harrison.” he said. “Two people we knew got killed. And our dad died.”  
I said I knew what had been going on and added “It just felt as if everything was okay to be asked if I was hungry.”  
“Well, are you or not?” he repeated.  
“I’m not,” I replied finally. “I have to meet Chester and Chassidy.”  
“Will Nick be there?” he asked.  
“I don’t know,” I replied. “Why?”  
“He’s the only one who isn’t that much older than me.” he said. “I was going to ask if I could join you.” He looked down for a second. I realised I rarely invited Thomas anywhere. He had his friends, I had mine; we knew each other but never invited one another to meetings.  
“You don’t even ask,” I said. “Put some clothes on and we’ll ready to go.”  
I waited for Thomas to get dressed while smoking the last cigarette in my packet. That also gave me some time to consider the odds: Dolores was killed the day I last saw her. My dad died the day I saw him. Thomas’ Rose died the night I met her. I didn’t help thinking that the murders were revolving around me. I forced myself to think about the wrongs I’d made. I mean, there were a lot, obviously, but were there enough to make someone kill another just to mess with me? Was this how low a person could sink? Was this enough to lose sanity and surrender to insanity? Was this all it took?  
I knew one bad day could make one bad as well. But in this case, I wasn’t quite sure what drove the killer crazy.  
Thomas was in the bathroom to brush his teeth. I wore a new shirt and a new scarf. No coats this time: It was still sunny out there. While buttoning my shirt, I received a new text: I have something to show you. Only if you don’t bring your brother with you will I show it to you. There was a new game to play, apparently. But I wasn’t going to play it. Just as I thought this, another one rang my phone: You’re smart enough to guess what happens if you don’t do the things I say.  
Thomas came downstairs. “Hey, I’m ready.”  
“You know what, Thomas,” I had to lie to make him stay at home. “I don’t think it’s safe that we leave the home unsecured. You should stay at home.”  
“I left Rose alone and look how it turned out, Harrison.”  
He had a point. What’re you going to do now, smarty?  
“Well, then,” I said. “I’ll drop you to Chester’s.”  
“And you?” he asked.  
“I have something to do in the police station.” I lied. “I’ll meet you at Chester’s.”  
After I handed Thomas to Chester, he said he’d look after him until I came back.  
Another text came: Smart move. Go to the Old House of the Madmen. Your surprise awaits.  
Old House of the Madmen was a horror house. But it was a wreck as it hadn’t been used for at least twenty years. We heard about it a lot, we walk past it a couple times, but we never dared look inside, ever. Now it was asked to enter it. I wondered what I was going to bump into, honestly.  
On my way there, I bought a new packet of cigarettes from a tobacco. Funny thing, the cashier said I looked extremely tired. “I am,” I replied to him. “But hey, who ain’t?” we laughed. Of course, mine was fake.  
When I reached at the Old House of the Madmen, it was as scary as it had always been. I read the newest text: Go in. Don’t be afraid. The dead can’t hurt you.  
Now, I was more afraid. Was there another dead body inside? Was it someone new? Or was it, scary enough, Rose’s corpse left to rot? God, why was I even here? What had I done to deserve it?  
I did what the anonymous texter said. It was quite dark inside. I had to use my phone’s camera to use its flashlight, which meant I was recording everything. Everything.  
And by everything, I mean what I was going to find was being recorded.  
There was a strong smell upstairs. I was scared to go up there, but I knew I had to. I kept the flashlight and the video on and decided to go up. The stairs were creaking, making me feel like one of them was going to break into pieces, resulting in my falling and die, eventually.  
There were two rooms upstairs. One was locked, so I didn’t bother to try and get in. The other one’s door wasn’t locked. I held the door handle and opened it wide. There was a cage.  
A cage which at first I thought was empty. But as a got closer to it, with making it visible with my phone’s camera, I realised it wasn’t empty. Not in the slightest.  
There were two naked bodies holding each other’s hands. When I paid attention, I saw that their hands were stitched to each other. Then I saw their faces. I wished that I hadn’t, but I did.  
It was my father and his stepsister, the police officer that I’d known for only three days, Queenie Addington. Her throat was cut, just as the previous two victims.  
I felt like throwing up. And I did so.  
At that moment, I stopped the video recording and rushed back outside.  
And that was when it happened. I received another message: Thanks for the video, Harrison! I sent it to everyone, with a little trick of mine. Wonder what it is? Watch the video I sent you!  
With my stomach hurting, I opened the attached video. It was the video that I just recorded. But there was another voice added to it. It was my voice, but it wasn’t a sentence I ever said: In the video, I was saying “I killed the whore.” this was when I was Queenie locked me up in the station. Then a couple other audio recordings of mine were edited, making me say “I killed the whore, and I murdered Rose. This is the last one for today: Queen A.”  
This video was sent to everyone. Everyone. Everyone was going to think that I murdered all those people. And this time, I didn’t have any clue about what to do next.


	7. Avoiding Failure

I felt sick. I felt like everything was on me. When even I thought I was to blame for the murders, I was sure that everyone else would think the same. Whoever was killing those people I knew, whoever was texting me anonymously, did their job so well. The town was against me. I was against me.  
“I can’t believe you,” Thomas yelled. “You’ve lied to me looking in my eyes.”  
“It was a trap, Thomas.” I said. “You’re good with computers, right?” He nodded. “If you analyse it, you can realise that I didn’t say those things – no, not the whole of it.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Someone is recording everything I say. They record me and they edit my voice.” I said. “They cut and add my sentences word by word.” I inhaled deeply. “And that’s the result.”  
“Who would do such a thing?” he asked.  
“Fuck if I know,” I replied. “Whoever it is, they must be really angry with me.”  
“How do I trust you, Harrison?” he asked, this time quite sadly.  
“I’m your brother, Thomas.” I said. “Can you even imagine me doing such horrible things?”  
“I’ve seen you getting angry, Harry.” he finally said. “And I don’t know what I should trust; you or my eyes and ears?”  
My brother by blood didn’t believe what I was telling. How could the whole town?  
Chester called me. “What’s it, Chester?” I roasted him. “You want to beat me up, too?”  
“It’s Chassidy.” she said.  
“Oh, I – I’m sorry, Chas.” I said.  
“You should come over,” she continued. “I have been sent something – somethings that my brother shouldn’t see.”  
“Does those things include me?” I asked. She confirmed. “You’ve seen the pictures, haven’t you?”  
“Someone sent it to me,” she said. “And you should believe me when I say I’m not angry with you. Not at all.”  
“I’m being recorded, Chas. I should be careful about what I’m saying.”  
“Wait, what?”  
“Haven’t you seen the video?” I asked her.  
“No, but I’ve heard stupid accusations.”  
“I’ll be there in ten.”  
I put my coat on, hid my face with my scarf and opened the door to leave the house. “Oh,” Thomas said. “You’re on the run again, huh?”  
“Shut it, Tom.” I said. “I also know your little lie.”  
I slammed the door and walked slowly. I knew he was going to open it and ask me about the lie. He did exactly what I expected. “Hey,” he said. “What lie?”  
I turned and looked at his face for a second. “It never takes 13 minutes to go to the grocery and get back home.” I said. “There’s approximately ten minutes of emptiness.”  
“Fuck you, Harrison.” he said. “You’re accusing me of killing my girlfriend?”  
“Fuck you, Thomas,” I replied. “You’re accusing me of killing my fuckbuddy?”  
He slammed the door and I kept on walking.  
In 15 minutes, I was at Chester’s house. “Come on in, Harry.” said Chassidy. “May I offer you anything?”  
“A litre of vodka to forget everything that has happened,” I said. “And a desert eagle to blow my brain off, if you don’t mind.”  
“Stop it,” she said. “Tell me what’s been going on.”  
“Somebody framed me of three murders.” I said. “Dolores, Rose and Queenie.”  
“I don’t even know the last two.”  
“I did.” I said. “Seriously, do you happen to have vodka?”  
She smiled and said, “No. But you can smoke.”  
I lit one. “Somebody made me go somewhere in which I found my dad and Queenie holding hands, stitched, dead in a cage. I recorded it all.” I said. “Then that someone edited the video.”  
“What do you mean edited?” she asked.  
“Apparently, they have been recording my voice – everything I say.” I said. “She cut my sentences and added words by words to create a new whole sentence – one that I never formed.”  
“What did they make you say in the video?”  
“That I killed those three people.” I said.  
“It’s horrible, Harrison.” she said. “Is there something I can do?”  
“No,” I said after I smoked the last bit of my cigarette. “Still, it’s nice to see someone believe me.” I added. I really, really needed someone to believe what I said.  
She put her hand on mine. “I believe you, Harry.” she said while positioning her body closer to me. “I’ve always believed everything you said.”  
“What – what’re you doing, Chassidy?” I asked, my breath being taken.  
“I think you need to relax.” she said before putting his hand on my face and other one on my man-part. It was a weird feeling, yet so attractive in thought. But wait, was it okay? I first slept with Chester’s girlfriend, and I did it for two years, now I was about to sleep with her sister, who also has a boyfriend of her own?  
“I don’t think that’s cool,” I said, but I was keep staring at her lips.  
“Everything’s cool, dear.” she said. And then she kissed me.  
And I kissed her.  
We kissed for minutes and more.  
Slowly my hand found its way on her beautiful body, undressing her naïvely. She unbuttoned my shirt and kissed my chest in a passionate way. I got rid of her crop-top and bra, put my hands on her breasts and squeezed them as soft as possible.  
I felt like on fire.  
She set me on fire.  
Five minutes later we were on her bed. Her sweaty sheet was under my back, and she was on top of me. She put her hand on my throat, choke me for seconds while I held her hips harshly. I finally put myself into her. She moaned, I moaned.  
We were on fire.  
And seemingly recorded.  
She and I both received a video text at the same time. I opened it. It was me. And it was Chassidy moving on top of me.  
I was once again framed. This time, that video could show everyone what a piece of shit I was. Fucking my best friend’s sister while she had a boyfriend, really? Good job, Harrison. You outdid yourself.  
I hurryingly got off the bed and dressed up. “This was a mistake, Chas.” I said. “I thought I’d – I don’t know, but – ugh! Never mind, okay?”  
I rushed downstairs and opened the door to leave the hose. However, a punch into my face stopped me from managing it. “You motherfucker,” Chester said. “Or should I say, girlfriend and sister fucker?”  
“Not a good pun, mate.” I said sarcastically. “You can do better.”  
“I’m going to gut you!” he yelled.  
“Yeah, do that when three people already have been fucking murdered, Chester.” I said. “Do that and save me from being fucking framed and took all the blame on yourself, you brainless fuck!  
“What are you even talking about?” he shouted.  
“I’m talking about what has happened to me, idiot!” I shouted back. “Someone’s been framing me of the murders.”  
“Get inside.” he said while walking in. “Chassidy, go to your room and stay there.”  
“I’m not yours to give orders, Chester.” she replied. “I’m over twenty.”  
“Do as you wish, then.” he was done with our bullshit. He proceeded to slam the door and sit on the sofa in the living room. “So, I’m listening.”  
I sat on another sofa. “I’ve been getting texts from an unknown number.” I started to explain. “Whenever I didn’t believe what they said, someone died. Then I received another one, telling me to go to the Old House of the Madmen. There I found two dead bodies – one of them died two days ago, my father. He was undug. And his hand was stitched to Queenie Addington, a police officer we knew.”  
“I saw the video.” he replied. “What about the things you say?”  
“I recorded the whole thing to use my phone’s flashlight.” I continued. “But I didn’t say a single thing during my trip there.”  
“How come?”  
“Whoever did this to me had been recording my voice.” I kept explaining. “They edited my voice. They made me say those things.”  
“It sounds unbelievable, Sylvia.” he said.  
“Is more believable that I said all those things knowing you’d want to kill me?” I asked.  
“Let’s say what you’re saying now is true,” I kept on questioning me. “The pictures? Are they photoshopped, too?”  
I had to give him the truth. He at least deserved that much. “No,” I said. “Unfortunately, not.”  
“So, you fucked my girlfriend?” he said angrily. “For two years in a row?”  
I nodded with regret. “If I could take it back, I would.” I didn’t know if I said the truth there.  
“Then why did you decided to fuck my sister, as well?” he asked. “You do know she has a boyfriend, too. Do you have a fetish on messing with people who has valentines?”  
“She jumped on me.” I said. “It wasn’t my request.”  
“I can’t believe you, Harrison.” Chassidy said suddenly. “How can you keep lying while I’m still in the room?”  
“What?” Chester and I asked at the same time. “What’re you talking about, Chassidy?” I kept the sentence going on.  
“You’re lying while I’m here, Harry!” she yelled. “How can you lie about raping me?” she shouted with all her lungs.  
“Is she telling the truth?” Chester asked.  
“No, she’s not!” I shouted as well. “She’s lying herself!”  
“Should believe you or my sister?” Chester said. “I’ll go with my sister.”  
“You’re a hypocrite, Chassidy.” I said looking at her, then turned to Chester. “And you can keep on living in lies, you massive gay shite.”  
“Leave my house.” he continued.  
“I hope you’ll crush under it, Chester.” I got up and walked at the door. “And by the way,” I looked at him one last time. “I wasn’t the only one to fuck Dolores.”


	8. Blood, Sweat and Tears

I had lost two friends of mine as if losing my whole life because of the anonymous texter, presumably the killer, wasn’t enough. It wasn’t like I had so many friends, either. Losing the two I had equalled losing all of them. Perhaps I had lost Thomas, as well: Our last conversation wasn’t that refreshing. Speaking of Thomas, I had a call from him after I went home from Chester’s. “I’m home if you want to keep swearing at my face.” I said.  
“I’m on my way to home,” he replied. “But my intention isn’t that.”  
“What is it then?”  
“To apologise.”  
I waited for him to come home for half an hour. When he did, he hugged me out of nowhere. “What was that for?” I asked afterwards.  
“I analysed the video.” he replied. “It turned out to be exactly what you said earlier.”  
“It’s nice to see someone actually trust me.”  
“Does Chester and Chassidy not?” he asked.  
I took a deep breath. “He saw me fucking Chassidy.” I said suddenly.  
“What?” he exclaimed. “Why would you even do that?”  
“She made me do it!” I said. “And then she lied about it.”  
“How so?”  
“She said I raped her.” I was so angry that I wanted to go back there and cut her throat. “And Chester also saw my pictures with Dolores.”  
“Those were some nasty pictures, really.” he smiled viciously.  
If he was joking, I had to, too. “I mean, she was smoking hot.” I laughed.  
“I never dug what she found in Chester, anyway.”  
“Even she didn’t dig it.” I inhaled again. “I want to get rid of my old life.”  
Thomas looked at me for seconds. “Whoever’s messing with you has already destroyed your old life, I think.” he said finally. “All of ours, actually.” He lit a cigarette as I proceeded to do the same. “You lost Dolores, Chester and Chassidy. I lost Rose.”  
“Include Queenie Addington,” I replied. “And... my life in total.” I filled my lung with smoke and exhaled. “Anonymous texter and killer has destructed everything I had – turned everyone I know against me.”  
“They even managed to turn me against you, for a second.”  
“A second?” I laughed. “You were this close to stab me, mate.”  
“Let’s recall that time as an unfunny joke, huh?” I smiled.  
“If you still want to destroy your old life, Harrison,” he continued while putting his cigarette out in the ashtray. “You can start with burning those pictures.”  
“Those pictures mean nothing to me.” I replied, thinking that burning them wouldn’t mean anything as well.  
“If they’re nothing to you,” he kept on expressing his own thought. “Burning them can do no harm, right?”  
He had a valid point, and I was easily convinced. That was how vulnerable I had become. I had always hid my feelings beneath, but it was time I wore my heart on my sleeve. So, I decided to do what Thomas told me to. I was going to burn them all.  
There were three pictures in total. And an extra one that I kept in my wallet. It wasn’t anything naughty; just a picture of us cuddling in her bed. I emptied my steel trash bin and put the pictures in it. I poured some cologne and threw my lighter inside. It caught fire. And the fire caught the pictures. And everything I had ever done flew away with the fume.  
They were burning bright. Brighter than my life. Brighter than what future held. Brighter than the past that was haunting me. Brighter than the sun. Brighter than what I was.  
“You won’t regret it,” said Thomas, watching me staring at the bin. “I know you won’t.”  
I didn’t turn and look at him. I kept staring at it. “I know I won’t.” I replied. “Because I already do.”  
“Don’t say that, Harry.” he continued. “You’re going to be okay.”  
“No, not while a killer is on the loose.”  
“The police will get them.” Thomas replied.  
“Like Queenie did?” I asked, this time turning my face to him. “Look how it ended up for her.” I was furious for some reason, and a thousand other reasons. “I’m sick of losing people.”  
“You’re sad and angry,” he recited my words. “Remember what those two things do to one?”  
“I’m already mad, Thomas” I said. “I just want to stop all this shit.”  
“Well, if you’re mad,” he kept speaking. “Why don’t you get rid of some of it?”  
“How?” I asked with a louder tune. “What do you want me to do?”  
“You’re angry at multiple people at the moment,” he stated a fact. “Just go yell at one of them.”  
“Yeah, I should yell at people while the whole town thinks I’m a psychopath killer.”  
“Go yell at Chassidy,” he said this time. “She has nothing to say to you.”  
“She has the advantage of making people believe that I raped her.”  
“But you didn’t do it, did you?”  
“I may be a lot of things, Thomas,” I replied. “But I’m not a motherfucking rapist.”  
“You need to talk to Chassidy,” he continued. “It’ll all be better this way.”  
I decided to do what he asked me to. I mean, everyone I knew already thought bad things about me, what more could I lose? All I had left was my life, which I thought wasn’t going to belong with me for a long time, either.  
I took Thomas’ advice and went to Chassidy’s. It was all normal at the start. And by at the start, I mean right before she opened the door I had knocked. “What’re you doing here?” she asked furiously.  
“I’m here to talk.” I replied. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”  
“There’s nothing to talk about.” she said.  
“Yes, there is,” I said before I walked myself in. “And it will be talked.”  
She closed the door, then approached at me. “It was a mistake, Harrison.”  
“What was?” I asked, hoping she could admit that she started it.  
“It was a mistake of you to harass me.”  
“Harass you?” I asked, getting angry. “I didn’t harass you, Chassidy.”  
“Yes, you did. Then you raped me!”  
“Lower your voice.” I said. “Is Chester home?”  
“I don’t ever want to see you!” she kept screaming. “I don’t ever want to see you again!”  
“Please, be calm,” I tried to ease her, even though I knew it wouldn’t work. “You don’t have to pretend if no one’s home.”  
“Chester, please!” she shouted. “I’m afraid!”  
“You’re afraid of shit,” I pushed her.  
“He’s going to do it again!”  
“Please, Chas!”  
“Help!” she yelled as louder as she could. “I’m being raped!”  
“Chassidy, I’m not here to hurt you.” That came out like I did raped her once, and I was trying to convince her I just came here to talk her out of it.  
“I don’t want to die again!”  
“Chassidy!” I shouted just like her. “Stop it!” I pushed her again. She was closer to the wall behind here. Anything could happen.  
“Is there no one!” she kept screaming like she wasn’t even hearing me. “Someone’s trying to kill me! It’s him! Him! He did it all and he wants to get rid of me, too!”  
I pushed her and the picture hung on the wall dropped. The nail that it was hung was still on the wall. It was now dangerous. Quite dangerous, really.  
But I hadn’t realised it was there until I pushed her to the wall once last time. No, not until she hit the wall. Not until she hit her head to the nail on the wall. Not until her red blood stained the white wall. Not until she held her head, crying in pain, showing her blooded hand to me. Not until she screamed “Look what you have done!” Not until she fell on the ground with open eyes, without breathing, had I realised that it was there.  
She died on my hands. She died because of me. I killed Chassidy.  
Her body was on the floor. And the blood on the wall was flowing down slowly.  
I didn’t know what to do.  
I came here to talk to her. How did it turn out this bad? How did I turn out to be capable of doing this? This? Killing someone off? That easily?  
I was feeling sick. I felt like throwing up. But no, I couldn’t. The police weren’t going to know that I killed Chassidy. I was going to put the blame on the actual murderer.  
However, my plans got destroyed once Chester came in. “Oh my God,” he exclaimed and ran to Chassidy’s dead body. He held her, cried out loud, and then looked at me. “Why would you do it?” he asked. “Did you do it because you were afraid that she’d go to the police?”  
“I didn’t do it intentionally, Chester.” I said, surprisingly without stuttering.  
“Yet you’re here, standing still, without even regret!” he yelled.  
“I already said what I said,” I replied. “I’m not going to say anything further.” I turned my back at him and started walking.  
“I wish I’d never met you, Harrison Sylvia!” he cried. “Your name is cursed.” He happened to say something more in addition, but I heard a knife sound instead. I thought I what I was afraid of was happening.  
When I heard his body hit the ground, I, in horror, turned around. There he was, a tall man in a black hoodie and a black balaclava on. “Don’t tell I’m not helping you.” he said in a deep voice; it was clear that he used a voice changer. “You know nothing but the fact that I’ve killed two people here, today.”  
I was so shocked that I couldn’t even move. The destroyer of my life, and he did it in three days, was standing in front of me, and I wasn’t doing anything. He cleared both sides of his knife on Chester’s sweater, turned back and rushed into the woods.  
I slowly walked at Chester’s body, which was laid right next to her sister, Chassidy’s, and I kneeled. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.” Their blood was on my hands, sticky. I was sweating out of fear, guilt and anxiety. And I was crying with my tears falling like two waterfalls side by side.  
Blood, sweat and tears. That was how it always had been. This is how it’s always going to be.


	9. Silhouette's Shadow

I was keeping on losing everyone around me. Only Thomas was still alive. And I was hoping that Nick was still alive, somewhere. I hadn’t heard of him since he was in Chassidy’s room, having sex. Then I heard that Chassidy crashed at his place. But that was it. I didn’t know where he was.  
I decided to call him.  
He answered in a happy voice. “Hey, Harrison?” he asked. “How are you doing?”  
“Oh,” I said, frustrated. “You don’t know, do you?”  
He didn’t reply for a second. I thought he was getting worried. “I don’t know what?”  
“I’m sorry, Nick,” I said, I was really feeling for him. “They’re dead.”  
“What nonsense are you talking about?” he raised his voice. “Is this a prank?”  
“The killer killed two more.” There I was lying as if I didn’t know the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. “Chester and Chassidy are dead.”  
“No,” he said. “I just talked with her an hour ago.” he was crying, I knew it, yet still in denial. “What you’re saying cannot be true!”  
“I wish it wasn’t, Nick.” I inhaled, deeply. “I wish it wasn’t.” I hung up and lit another cigarette. This was the third one in a row. I was headed back to home, where Thomas was waiting for me. “Hey, Thomas,” I said. “I’ve fucked up.”  
“What is it?” he asked. “What worse could have happened?”  
“They’re dead.” I said suddenly. Just like that. Like it was easy. Like it wasn’t killing me slowly. Like... I didn’t kill one of them. “The Benedict siblings are no more.”  
“How so?” he asked this time, approaching at me. “You were there for half an hour.”  
“I was talking with Chassidy,” I started to explain. But I was going to lie, once more. “Then a man with a hoodie and a balaclava came in and killed them.”  
“Oh my God, Harrison,” he said. “Are you okay?” He hugged me.  
“I’m not, Tom.” I replied. “I don’t think I’ll ever be okay.”  
“Was there anyone?” he asked. “He killed two people right there?” His words sounded familiar. Disturbingly familiar. The tone in his voice... It was different from the Thomas I knew. Something else was in there, something I didn’t quite know. “That cold blooded son of a bitch.”  
“Thomas,” I said, slowly walking away from him. “You were with dad and me when we learned about Dolores’ death, right?”  
“Of course, I was,” he replied. “How can you forget it? You weren’t even drinking.”  
“You were alone when Rose was killed.” I said.  
“Don’t bring it up, Harrison, it still hurts.”  
“I hadn’t seen you for a couple days when I found dad and Queenie’s bodies.” I kept talking, walking around the table in the living room.  
“What are you implying?” he asked furiously. “Who do you think I am?”  
“I don’t know anything anymore!” I yelled. “I’ve been played with for almost a week, just like a toy!”  
“That doesn’t you the right to accuse me of murder!”  
“I want you to utter two sentences.” I said. “Only two. And nothing else. I’ll decide what happens later.” I approached at him. Our noses were almost touching one another. “And whoever, or whatever you are, know that I’m not afraid of you.”  
“I’ll tell it.” he replied. “I ain’t who you think I am, dumbass.”  
Let’s be sure of it, douchebag.  
“Utter me this: ‘Don’t tell I’m not helping you. You know nothing but the fact that I’ve killed two people here, today.’” I said. This was exactly what the murderer had said. I remembered it all correctly, since it was the most devastating moment of my whole life.  
He said the entire sentence. It was normal this time. I’d lost the traces of the difference that I had heard a minute ago. It was Thomas talking. No one else. “Are you satisfied, Harrison?” he asked with tears in his eyes. “Are you happy now that you accused me of killing my girlfriend?”  
“Thomas,” I said. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” I lit a cigarette. “I have this feeling, this feeling that’s telling me everyone’s making a fool of me.”  
“Don’t equate me with everyone else.” he said. “I’m your brother.”  
“Will you forgive me?” I asked so naively, so kindly that I knew I was crying.  
“I blamed you before, Harry.” he replied. “Shit happens.”  
I wish I had heard him. But he entered the room from the window while Tom was speaking, therefore the intruder’s noise was drowned by Tom’s voice. Just as I didn’t hear him enter the house, I didn’t notice him until he threw his knife. His knife, right into Thomas’ heart.  
Thomas was bleeding. He looked at the knife that struck him. He looked back at me. “That’s it,” he said, crying. He kneeled. I ran to him, not caring about who threw the knife. All I cared was my brother in my arms, slowly fading away. “Don’t you dare be sorry.”  
“How can I not?” I asked, crying. “I never thought I’d lose you this way.”  
“I never thought I’d die in your arms, either,” he tried to laugh. “Listen,” he said while blood was coming out of his mouth. “I’m happy that I’m dying in your arms.” he continued. “I’m glad that I didn’t die you being angry with me.”  
“I’m not,” I said. “Know this, Thomas, I’m not.” I was crying harder. “I love you, brother.”  
He smiled one last time. He died in my arms. His eyes were still open. And he had this little smile on his face. I closed his eyes with my bare hands.  
I got up.  
I turned back.  
There a hooded man with a balaclava on his face standing.  
It was the same one.  
The anonymous texter.  
The murderer.  
“Did you miss me?” he asked. There was no voice changer this time. And his voice sounded extremely familiar. He was someone I knew, someone I trusted even for a second. “Try harder, try again!” he continued. “Or should I give you a clue?”  
I nodded while lighting a cigarette. I was relaxed because I knew what I was going to do. What I was going to was to end that motherfucker’s life. To stab him a million times if necessary. To burn him on the Sun if necessary.  
He was a dead man from now on.  
“Here’s your first clue,” he said. “You’re older than me.”  
“I’m older than half of this town,” I said mockingly.  
“Then another clue,” he said. “We don’t see each other very often.”  
“Maybe it’s because you’ve been wearing a balaclava this whole time.”  
“Your third clue is,” he continued. “We both slept with the same woman once.”  
“Threesome?” I laughed. “Not quite my type.”  
“No!” he yelled. “She was mine.”  
“I already know who you are.” suddenly I said. “And I already know that you’re nothing but a coward.”  
“Could a coward kill five people in three days?” he asked.  
“He could if he was hiding behind a mask.”  
“Let me reveal myself, then.” he proceeded to get rid of his mask. It was when I attacked him. I kicked his hand and he dropped his second knife. Then I punched his stomach to bend him just to punch his face. He fell; but got up quickly. His mask was off. “This was disrespectful.” he said.  
“Shut up try and kill me, Nick.” I said.  
“Who says I want to kill you?” he asked. “All I ever wanted was to end your life, and it seems to me that it’s already done.”  
I hurriedly took his knife from the floor. “Whose life’s going to end, now?”  
“Kill me all you want,” he shouted. “I’ve seen you kill before!”  
“It wasn’t intentional!” I shouted back. “I didn’t want to kill Chassidy.”  
“What about everyone else?” he screamed.  
Oh. Oh. I realised what he was doing.  
He was yelling so loudly that everyone was going to hear him. Everyone was going to think that I really killed those people.  
“You know what?” I said. “I’m down for spending the rest of my life in jail, hated.”  
“What good will it do?”  
“Because I’ll know that I’m in jail for killing you.”  
I threw the knife on his neck. It hit right on spot. He bled and leaned on the wall. “Stop!” he yelled. “Don’t you want to know why I did it?”  
“Oh, you admit that you did it, then?” I asked with my hand on his throat, strangling him. “Tell me everything. Every motive you had.”  
“I’m the descendent of the original Silhouette.” he said. “My ancestor did it all.”  
“And you’re proud of it?” I asked. “How pitiful.”  
“Of course, I am!” he screamed. “I’m carrying his legacy, O Mighty Silhouette!”  
“You’re just as crazy as your ancestor, fuckface.” I said.  
“He called himself the Silhouette,” he kept on talking. “And I. Am. The Silhouette’s Shadow!”  
“I couldn’t care less, Babyboy.” I stabbed him on the neck. And again. And again... And again. For five times I stabbed him. For everyone he killed I stabbed him. Then I stabbed him at the heart to avenge Thomas. Finally, I cut his throat, well, what was left of his throat, to avenge everybody that died on his hands.  
I didn’t regret what I did. I still don’t.  
My father witnessed the Silhouette Massacre and its very ending.  
I witnessed the Silhouette’s Shadow, just another dipshit.  
And I won.  
I was alive.  
But I was as dead as my father had been since that massacre.


	10. The Epilogue: Shining Artefact of the Past

The things we do for freedom is immeasurable. And the things we do for life is meaningless. However hard you try to survive, you will end up in a coffin, in a graveyard, six feet under. This is how life goes.  
I saved my life from the hands of the Silhouette’s Shadow, but I couldn’t keep living. No, not like this. But believe me, I’ve tried.  
I’m writing this letter in my prison chambers. I’m alone here. They never put anyone else beside me, for they think I killed seven people cold-bloodedly. But no, I only killed two. One of them was a mistake. The other was the one who killed the rest. And yes, I admit killing him. That douchebag had it coming.  
Stop.  
This is not the matter here.  
What I’m trying to say is, as you can realise above, I’m not doing very well.  
I’ve tried so hard, but I’ve never managed it.  
I’m glad to know that no other psychopath under the name of Silhouette will roam this earth. I made sure of it. But rotting in this prison, this private hell of mine, I had enough of it.  
I don’t have anyone to say goodbye. So, the reason I’m writing this letter is to give the media something to talk about. Something valuable, this time. Maybe, just maybe, people will remember me. I don’t care if they remember me as a killer or a hero, really, I only want them to remember everything that has happened: That people died. And I want to be a reminder for them, for them to be sure that being a motherfucking psychopath is never going to be welcome.  
After I put the last dot on this letter I’m writing, I’m going the shoot myself in the head with the gun I stole from a guardian.  
No worries.  
Harrison Sylvia, the only survivor of the Silhouette’s Shadow killings, and the descendent of the only survivor of the Silhouette Massacre. So long and goodnight


End file.
